


The Issue of Lorah

by ObsessedWithMerlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Canon Era, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 03:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsessedWithMerlin/pseuds/ObsessedWithMerlin
Summary: A young Merlin, on a mission to find the Once and Future King, is a part of a revolutionary effort to outlaw slavery once and for all, until he is captured by the slave trader Jarl. A very different Camelot has Arthur meeting Merlin for the first time behind a slaver's auction block. He rescues the boy, but what is this about a destiny? And who is Emrys? One-shot.





	The Issue of Lorah

The slave markets of Camelot were famed for a reason. With access to the sea through Gedref and the most kept roads in Albion connecting Camelot to its neighbors easily, the merchant town of Lorah thrived. It was within sight of the citadel, but far enough away not to be considered a part of the lower town. Lorah operated completely autonomous to the citadel, except for the knights stationed throughout the city. It would be unwise to leave such a bustling market to the clutches of unregulated trade.

Despite its prosperity, Arthur usually avoided the town. He much preferred the relaxed atmosphere of the lower town to the dangerous edge of Lorah. But something in him that morning had all but demanded he travel to the markets. Although he was in need of a slave, Arthur felt it was more than that reason that pressured him to make the short journey. He could hardly stand the four his father had purchased for him over the years, and he was in no hurry to add another. He could make due without a personal attendant just fine. At least, that had been his opinion the last few weeks.

Now he stood at the side of an auction block, waiting to find the very thing he had been so determined to do without. He could not explain his change of will, only that it happened. Besides, Arthur rationed, the reason didn't matter. No one could begrudge him his right to change his own mind.

"My lord," the manager of the auction came down to greet him. "You honor us with your presence. I am called Jarl. Is my prince in the market for anything in particular?"

"I am looking for a personal attendant. Preferably male."

"Ah! We have quite a few specimens for your perusal. The auction will begin at noon, your highness."

"I will not wait for the auctions, I will look at your stock now," Arthur said impatiently. He might as well get this over with and return to the citadel.

"Of course, my lord," the man said with slight hesitation before bowing shallowly. "Allow me to show you to our holding cells."

His hesitation made Arthur smirk haughtily. The slaver led Arthur up the stairs of the stage and across it to the connected building. The hall was dark, the only light from small windows at the top of the walls. Arthur saw the logic in that design. The height and size of the windows prevented any unwanted movement through them. No thieves in through them, no escapees out through them.

The came to the end of the hall and stopped near a large locked door. "Just one moment, your highness, I have had the key keeper fetched. He should be along soon."

Arthur nodded.

"Is there anything else you are looking for in an attendant, my lord?" the slaver asked as the door was being opened.

"Well, I would hope they weren't too beastly to look at," Arthur said offhandedly, still not expecting to actually find one.

"Of course, my lord," the grotesque man smiled cruelly. "I will only show you the best."

As they entered the room, the normal stench of slaves caused Arthur to roll his eyes. Why owners insisted on keeping their slaves in filth was beyond him. He did not see the point in the squalor, it only inconvenienced the master if he should have to approach them.

There were cells lining the walls, all filled to maximum capacity in anticipation for this afternoon's auction.

The master of the auction led him through the cages, bringing out slaves that met his expectations, but Arthur barely glanced at them. He didn't really want to buy one, but he would go through the motions if his gut told him too. The man clearly realized he was not impressing Arthur, and began to get frustrated as they approached the end of their stock. As he brought out yet another, Arthur's attention was called to a small figure like a deer to a sound.

The boy was young, sixteen, Arthur guessed. Skinny to the point of malnutrition and hunched over his body with his knees pulled tightly to his chest. He had raven black hair that was matted to his forehead with sweat from the heat and the bruising shown on his milky white skin had anger stirring in Arthur's chest. The eyes above sharp cheekbones and a slim face held a haunted expression as the boy watched the light from the small window pour into the room. Despite it all, Arthur felt something akin to attraction. Or at least it could develop into attraction, should the boy no longer smell of the stables.

"I want to see him," Arthur said, pointing to the smallest cage.

Once the manager realized Arthur hadn't been talking about the slave currently on display, he searched the cells for the one that had caught the prince's eye. "He is a new acquisition, my lord. He is prone to bouts of magic, so we keep him away from the others. We are employing other tactics to keep it under control-"

"Tactics like what," the prince asked, curious.

"Sensory deprivation, withholding meals, anything to dull his reactions."

"Sensory deprivation?"

"Yes, my lord. Take right now," the slaver explained with a sadistic glee. "He cannot see the room, nor feel the cage beneath him. All he has is the sounds of the market."

"How?" Arthur demanded, "And to what purpose?"

"Magic, my lord. And its purpose is to disorient. He is too obstinate, does not respect authority. The spell for blindness makes him completely dependent on his handler and the red shackle creates the lack of feeling. He does not have the ability to fight back."

Arthur hummed offhandedly, but knew it was important he take this boy. This was the reason he was called to Lorah today, he was sure of it.

"He is not ready yet. But if my lord were to return in a few weeks time-"

"I shall have him now."

The slaver looked up with a critical look in his eye.

"Name your price or I shall take him as compensation for the injuries you have afflicted on my slave," Arthur said, shifting the ownership of the boy with one statement.

"Of course, my lord. We meant no offense." He said slowly, before he began ordering for the slave to be brought out.

"Does he have a name?"

"We call him Consus. We found him using his magic to make a field grow. He will be a powerful tool, once we-you break him, my lord."

Arthur ignored the slip, more fascinated by the creature in front of him.

"My magic is not for you," the boy all but yelled.

The slavemaster's face drew up in disgust. "As you can see, my lord, you will need to take a strong hand with him," as he said this, he backhanded the small thing, knocking it off its feet.

Arthur tampered down the burst of fury that came up within him.

"What is the point of hitting him, if he cannot feel anything?" Arthur asked, exasperated, after he watched the men lift the slave back to his feet. He was intrigued by the boy's insolence, and even more so by the fleeting smirk he had seen in response to his question.

"I hope this display hasn't changed my lord's mind on the beast. He is pretty enough to satisfy, I believe."

Arthur figured the jeer was more for the boy's distress, than his actual belief. The boy began to shake slightly, but just a moment later his back straightened and his face drew into determination. Intriguing indeed, Arthur thought.

"No, I quite like a challenge," Arthur said. "As I said, name you price."

They haggled a little over it, before deciding on something around the going rate for a slave with magic. Arthur was too impatient to truly care what he paid after a few exchanges. Two guards met them outside the building, and Arthur instructed them to take the boy to his chambers and leave him there.

When Arthur arrived at his rooms about an hour later, he was pleased to see the boy standing in the foyer.

"Consus, was it not," Arthur greeted, tossing his sword and gloves onto the long table there. Other than a subtle flinch, the boy did not respond to Arthur's words.

"Well then," Arthur said, coming closer to him. "Let's take a better look at you, shall we?"

Suddenly the boy was full of energy. He threw out his arms and tried to back up, nearly tripping over a chair. "What the hell are you doing?" Arthur demanded, reaching out to steady him, but as Arthur spoke, he seemed to get more worked up.

"Easy, easy!" Arthur commanded, but the boy just struggled harder, flailing his arms out like a wounded bird.

Red metal banged against his arm and suddenly Arthur understood the boy's panic. "Come here, little raven," he said gently, as if speaking to a spooked animal. Arthur turned the boy away from him and carefully but surely grabbed both the young one's arms, crossing them over his chest, then pulling him back into Arthur's own. He held him tightly and whispered again in his ear, "Calm. No harm will come to you here."

Still the boy struggled, sobbed grunts leaving his mouth as his body jerked and turned in the prince's grip.

"Calm down," Arthur repeated softly. "Let me remove the shackle. Let me help you," Arthur reasoned with him.

The raven haired boy relaxed some against him, and Arthur took to whispering reassurances until he finally received a nod of approval. Finally, Arthur thought as he removed the key from his pocket and began to work at the lock.

When the red cuff released its hold on the boy's arm, he stumbled, but it appeared to be purposeful. He was feeling the ground beneath his feet for the first time in who knows how long. The boy seemed to meander over to the table, arms stretched out to feel his way, and Arthur was inclined to let him explore a litte. Arthur watched as he grabbed the edge of the table with both hands, immediately tightening his grip on it, turning his pale knuckles even whiter.

"Thank you," the boy whispered, marking the first real words he had said to Arthur. The prince found them appropriate.

"Now, I am not having you standing around my chamber's smelling of bilge rat. You must bathe yourself."

There was a moment of quiet before Arthur realized the man literally could bathe himself.

"Fine," Arthur sighed. "I will help you."

Arthur undressed the boy, pointed looking elsewhere. Impatiently batting away the struggling hands. "I'm not going to rape you," he said, frustrated, but it calmed the boy down enough that it made Arthur a little more sympathetic to the blind boy's fears. The slaver's sadistic taunts coming back to Arthur. Perhaps his fears were founded in experience. That was as sobering a thought as Arthur could think of. Whatever attraction he felt for the boy was not as important as the health of him.

He led his new charge over to the prince's own bathing tub and helped him into the warm water that he had had fetched earlier. Strangely enough, he didn't seem to mind seeing his bath water being used by another, which was a first. When it became clear that the boy could not wash himself without his sight, Arthur picked up a sponge and set to work. He actually felt slightly embarrassed by how clumsy his own moves were. In his defense, Arthur hardly washed himself, let alone another.

"Merlin," the boy said quietly as they finished up.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, not having understood what the boy had said.

"My name. It's not Consus. It's Merlin."

A smile worked his way onto his face, "Seems you truly are a little raven, aren't you."

He bobbed his head a couple times, skimming him hands over the top of the warm water, somehow still managing to keep his shoulders in a defeated posture. Under the water, Arthur dragged the soft sponge across a particularly nasty bruise on the boy's lower back.

"It's nice to meet you, Merlin. My name is Arthur."

The boy jerked in the water, causing Arthur to remove his hand quickly, holding them up in a nonthreatening way even if the other man couldn't see it. Arthur expected the boy to lean back after the pain had receded, like he had the past couple times Arthur had hit a sensitive spot, but instead he stayed ridged.

After sometime, the boy-Merlin-murmured quietly, "Arthur . . . Pendragon?"

"Well," Arthur blinked. "Yes."

Merlin spun around, facing the prince for the first time since he had entered the bath. Arthur nearly stumbled back when he took in the wide smile that lit up the boy's face. What could have caused this reaction was beyond him. The raven-haired boy reached out with searching hands until they found Arthur. One on his shoulder and one on his forearm. Water seeping into his clothes and onto onto the floor.

"You found me," Merlin breathed staring into the space just over Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur reached up and gently moved his face to the correct direction. "I found you?" Arthur questioned quietly.

The resulting enthusiastic nodding made Arthur chuckle slightly.

"How did I find you, Merlin?"

"I came to find you, but I got captured. Then you rescued me," the smile on the boy's face had not dimmed.

Arthur, still confused, but knowing somehow that he was right. For some reason Arthur had to go to Lorah just to find him, even if he hadn't known at that time, and had picked him out of a room full of slaves with horrible futures. That one of those horrible futures might have been Merlin's made Arthur's chest ache.

"That's right, little raven," Arthur whispered. "I came to rescue you."

Apparently content that Arthur agreed, the boy leaned forward, notching his wet head in Arthur's neck and wrapping his arms around him.

"I dreamed you would," he said into Arthur's shoulder. "But I didn't actually think you would. I'm sorry I doubted you."

The younger boy sounded actually disturbed he hadn't trusted that Arthur would rescue him. "It's alright, Merlin. How were you to know?"

"I should have," the boy insisted. "I'm Emrys. I should always know."

"I thought you said your name was Merlin," Arthur said, confused.

Merlin pulled himself back from Arthur. "I am both. Just like you are both the Prince of Camelot and the Once and Future King."

"The Once and Future King?" the prince asked bewilderedly.

A confused frown pulled across his face. "If you didn't know about our destiny, than how did you know to rescue me?"

"Well, I," Arthur searched for a response. "I wasn't going to go to Lorah this morning, but suddenly I was there, and when I saw you, I knew I couldn't leave you. So I bought you. I rescued you." Even to Arthur's own ear's his reasoning was weak.

"You can't buy a person!" Merlin said, irrationally.

"Yes, you can. I just did." The prince was confused at this change in the boy. How could his name alone have stirred all this in him?

"Slavery isn't okay!"

"You're a slave," Arthur said hotly.

"I am not!" Merlin shouted.

"Yes, you idiot, you are."

"Fine!" Merlin stood quickly out of the water, splashing the prince and unfortunately losing his own precarious balance. He flailed wildly before tumbling over the opposite end of the tub. He landed solidly onto the hard stone, and Arthur immediately forgot his anger, rushing to go help him.

However, Merlin had not forgotten his, in fact, it was amplified from the embarrassment. When Arthur reached down to help him up, Merlin thrust out his hand and with a flash of orange in his blind eyes, Arthur flew back across the room.

"I can have you hanged for that!" Arthur yelled.

Merlin got to his feet by himself, drying off the same way he had thrown Arthur. "You are such a prat! I cannot believe I crossed Albion for you. There must be another Arthur Pendragon because this one's an idiot!"

"And just what are you supposed to do as this, this Emrys?"

"I'm supposed to help you become the greatest king Albion has ever seen, but I guess I shouldn't get my hopes up. Given you are already a lost cause."

"I have been training since birth to be the greatest king there has ever been and I will not be lectured by you."  
"Well, they're doing a marvelous job."

"And you think a slave could do better?"

"You're a prat," Merlin spat.

"You can't address me like that," Arthur said harshly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my lord. How long," Merlin said with a sarcastic bite. "Have they been training your highness to be a prat!?"

Arthur's blood was boiling beneath his skin, everything about the boy made him want to tear his hair out. He was about to do that, or something worse, when the warning bells went off. Immediately, Arthur grabbed his sword from its resting place on the table and started to think ahead.

"I expect to see you at the feast tonight," Arthur ordered. "Your uniform is there." He pointed to the militantly folded pile of slave garbs in the corner of the room.

"I will have George sent up to inform you of your duties. You are not to leave this room until the feast."

Arthur walked out of the room with purpose, pausing just outside the closed door for a brief moment to regain his composure. Merlin was infuriating. He didn't understand how he could have gone for pliant and agreeable to a raging mess in just a few moments. And what the hell did he say about a destiny?

Arthur pushed it all away with a shake of his head. The warning bells were still ringing above him, and Arthur had to report to the throne room.

A guard had been found dead and instead of canceling the feast, his father wanted to continue as if nothing was wrong. It didn't matter because the guard had been killed in the lower town, which meant they had not gotten into the citadel, that was his father's reasoning at least. Arthur dispatched a slave to bring the news to the guards family along with three month's wages. It wasn't much, but Arthur was confined to his father's traditions there as well.

Arthur could hardly think of anything but the man behind him the entire first part of the feast. Merlin had come in, obviously having regained his sight, in the customary linens for the royal feast. They were a white tunic with a red and gold Pendragon crest across the chest and brown trousers. The white drowned the boy's little coloring and Arthur wonder briefly what he would look like in complete Pendragon red, and almost wished he was wearing the servant's garb instead.

Pulling his attention off the slave and back on the evening's entertainment, Arthur found he started to enjoy the bard's tale. Though the true talent laid in the woman. Her voice was haunting and calm and . . .

The next thing Arthur knew, he was waking up groggily, as if from a restless night.

He jolted from that state when his eyes fell upon a very different scene than he had fallen asleep to. The large chandelier laid atop a dying man, blood and flame everywhere. Arthur recognized the man as Thomas Collins, a fugitive of the crown. Arthur had been searching for him for months ever since they had caught him inciting riots in the outer villages.

He must have disguised himself and came in with the singer . . .

"Father," Arthur exclaimed. "Guards!"

The woman had changed appearance as well. Where there had once been a young, beautiful woman, stood an old frail woman.

"No!" the woman screeched. "A son for a son!"

She charged forward, but Leon, who must have come out of his slumber faster than Arthur, stepped up behind her, driving her through. The room seemed to freeze as they allowed their clouded mind to catch up with their eyes. Then, from Leon's own holster, the woman pulled a knife and threw it across the room, straight towards Arthur. Before he could even process the move, the knife froze mid air. It stayed suspended in place for a moment, then seems to burn into ashes in front of their eyes. Arthur turned to see Merlin standing there, arm outstretched, gold fading from his eyes.

"My God," Uther breathed. "Arthur, are you alright?"  
Arthur nodded, eyes still on the boy. Uther followed his gaze and took in the relaxing position of his slave. "Who are you?" the king demanded. "Speak."

"Merlin of Ealdor," Merlin spoke calmly, the act of defiance well disguised. Slaves were supposed to cut all ties to their life before their service. "I am my lord prince's attendant."

"A new slave?" Uther raised a brow at his son and Arthur nodded. "A good purchase."

The court seemed to accept this development as if they were entitled to it. Saving Arthur's life was not something to be praised, it was expected. Of course a slave would do everything in its ability to save its master. It was not reflectant on the slave, but his master's fine judgement in acquiring such a . . . a tool. It didn't sit well with Arthur. None of this did.

The guards were called to remove the corpse and the slaves were called to clean the floors. Then the feasting continued with even more to celebrate than before.

They had been revolutionaries, the Collins's. People who believed, like Merlin did, that slavery was not something that should be accepted, but outlawed and fought against. Why would Merlin save him? Surely it would have benefited him to let his master die at the hands of like minds. It would have been a great blow to Camelot and would have furthered their movement exponentially. In the resulting confusion and panic, Merlin himself could have slipped away. Gone back to this Ealdor with no one the wiser. So why?

Arthur crowded the boy against the wall the moment they returned to his chambers. Merlin allowed it, looking at Arthur's face with an intensity that had been absent from his eyes when he had been blinded.

Allow. That hadn't been a word he had associated with a slave before in his life.

"You saved me, why?"

"You're my master," Merlin said, looking away. "It was your right."

Arthur felt he had hurt the boy somehow, most likely with his insistence of calling him a slave in their earlier argument. Which was ridiculous, because that was what he was.

Their proximity reminded Arthur of the hour before their fight, and the peace he had found in caring for the boy. Mimicking his previous move, Arthur gently moved Merlin's gaze from over his shoulder to look into his eyes. "My temper ran away from me earlier," Arthur addressed the boy like he would appease a foreign dignitary he had upset. "I was wrong to say those things."

"Are you apologizing to me? A slave?"

Arthur did see the pain that time. The word appeared to physically harm him.

"I am not asking why my slave saved me. I am asking why 'Merlin of Ealdor' did."

Merlin's eyes burned into his own, not with anger, but something else. "Because I believe in the future you will build. In the Camelot you can create. One of freedom and equality."

"Camelot's economy is based on slavery."

"That doesn't make it any less wrong," Merlin insisted.

"No, it makes it a necessary evil."

"So it is evil?"

Arthur pulled back. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I am not having the conversation with you, Merlin."

"Why not? Because you know I am right?"

"You're going to make me angry," the prince warned.

"No," Merlin whispered. "I am going to make you see."

The prince had nothing to saw to that, so instead he turned his back and walked further into his room.

"So what you're saying is that slavery is good?"

"I'm saying it has good benefits."

"For who? Not for the slaves," Merlin said.

Arthur ignored him, pulling the covers of his bed back to have something to do with his hands. He needed the boy to shut up, so of course he kept talking.

"For you? Do you benefit from slavery?"  
"Yes!" Arthur yelled. "I do. I own slaves. Five to be exact. And my father own hundreds."

"And that's good?" Merlin pressed. "It's good to own that many slaves? That many humans?"

"Stop saying that. Slavery isn't good or bad. It's neutral. A means to an end."

"Nothing in this world is neutral. Not war. Not famine. Not murder. Not trade. And not slavery."

"What do you want, Merlin?" Arthur collapsed into a chair, exhausted.

"I want you to admit what you know in your heart. Admit that it's wrong to treat people like this. That there is something innately evil about it."  
"To what end, Merlin? Why does it matter if I say its wrong or not? I still know it benefits Camelot, my kingdom. I won't fight against this."

Merlin pulled Arthur's hand to the scars around his wrists. "Admit that it's wrong, and then we can debate if it's necessary or not. I know what denouncing slavery would mean for Camelot, I know it would mean recession, chaos. But if you do not do something soon, the tides will turn against you. Evil can only prosper for so long. The people are waking up. If you move now, we can channel this righteous anger into a bright future for Camelot, for Albion. We can start to turn Camelot before people start calling for blood. It's already started. The Collins's were just the beginning."

Having apparently finished his argument, Merlin fell quiet. He waited while Arthur examined everything he had just said. The whole time, Arthur's fingers moved absently over the scarred skin of Merlin's wrists.

"This should not have happened to you." Arthur said, finally, and feeling a great deal freer because of it. "But I still think slavery is necessary and I don't think the rebels will accomplish anything but push people further into their own views."

For some reason, Merlin smiled at that.

"I'm going to change your mind."

Somehow, Arthur just knew he was right. "That's what I am afraid of."

Merlin seemed to calm after that, and Arthur was left feeling confused once more. The boy went from meek to angry to righteous like nothing Arthur had ever seen. Perhaps the real Merlin was somewhere in between, and these mood swings were due largely to the stress of the situations he had been put in. That seemed the most logical explanation, and Arthur favored that view. He was barely more than a child, after all. Perhaps once they had settled into a routine, Arthur could figure out just what it meant when he grew distracted by the other man's mouth.

The shy persona had returned to dominate Merlin's persona.

"Are you going to send me down to the slums?" he asked quietly, looking out at the night sky.

"They're not slums, Merlin," Arthur corrected. The royal slave quarters were truly not that bad comparatively.

"Are you?" he asked quietly.

"Do they frighten you, Merlin?" the prince asked, not unkindly. One jerking nod later had Arthur offering the antechambers for the first time since he was a child.

Perhaps Merlin was right. Maybe their meeting did have something to do with a destiny.


End file.
